just some marvel imagines

grocery shopping [1] - the OG six

"Are you seriously landing this thing right here?" you groaned, peeking out the Quinnjet's window.

"Where do you want me to land? In the middle of the street?" Tony retorted, earning a chuckle from Clint.

You slapped your hand on your forehead, face palming, but still watching as Tony landed the jet in the far side of the parking lot at Wal-Mart. The looks on people's faces were priceless when they felt the sudden gusts of wind from the turbulence. Tony lifted his arm, flipping a switch to lower the ramp.

All of you scampered out quickly, to not draw attention as the ramp closed up. The seven of you got some looks, but the civilians seemed to shrug off the oddity as they noticed who you all were. The Avengers, of course. You were also normal people too. . . who happened to need some groceries.

It took a couple minutes to reach the automatic doors of the store and you all kind of just stood there for a moment.

"So, uh," Steve began. "What now?"

"We need milk," Thor interjected, looking at the list that Natasha just handed him. ". . . and a lot of other stuff."

"We can split up?" you suggested with a shrug.

"Good idea, [Y/N]," Steve agreed, patting your head, which he knew you hated so very much. "Me and [Y/N], Clint and Nat, and Thor and Tony." 

You let out a scoff as Thor and Tony glared at each other. All of you got along, but both of their egos were quite large. Sometimes they would bicker. . . and break a few things along the way. It was always quite entertaining to see them fight over who could make the best pancakes. In your opinion, it was neither of them; it was Clint.

After reliving that memory, you giggled a bit before slapping Steve's bicep.

"Let's go, big guns," you groaned, walking down the dairy isle.

Both of you stood in front of the see-through doors, with milk on the other side. None of you said anything for a few minutes, as neither of you had done this in a while. You looked at Steve and he had his brows furrowed.

"What's on your mind, bro?" you asked, mirroring his posture, and crossing your arms over your chest.

He huffed and practically tore open the fridge door, ripping a gallon of milk from the shelf.

"You're telling me this is $3?"

"Oh god," you muttered, face palming for what seemed like the tenth time in the last hour.

Then you began explaining to the man out of time how prices worked in the 21st century.